iCarly - Freddie Has a Sam Day
by tantaller
Summary: It starts with rushed laundry before school, it ends with a surprising gesture, in more ways than one. Wet clothes or not, Freddie is a winner. And Sam has known that all along.


iCarly fan fiction - Underwear Twist

Freddie started his day with a smile on his face, ready to start his morning and head out for first period. He'd woken up early today, a bit too early, having 35 minutes to spare before school. He looks at a pile of clothes on his floor, then over at an empty laundry basket laying upside down to the right of the clothes. He nods, decides he should probably do his laundry. He stuffs the white plastic basket with the pile of clothes, grabbing handfuls of shirts, socks, and underwear. He picks up the basket and heads for the door.

Looking back, he sees there are two pairs of underwear still laying on his bedroom floor. Two pairs of tag less pouch briefs; one of them a dusty dark blue shade, the other a bright white cotton brief, crumpled together in a small bunch in the corner of his dresser. He snatches up his leftover underwear and tosses them onto the top of the basket, leaving his bedroom.

Freddie sets the basket down on the ground and starts pulling out individual items. He grabs a pair of red briefs poking out from the middle of the pile, stretches them out in front of his chest, checking for holes. He shakes them, folds the seams, and tosses the piece of underwear into the washer. He grabs a handful of socks and underwear with both of his hands, shakes them quickly and tosses them on into the washer.

Freddie shoves with all his shoulder power, pushing down his clothes into the washing machine. He drips the blue cleaning fluid over his clothes in a circular motion. He clicks the spin button, the machine whirring loudly, bumping up and down slightly. He sets it to a quick spin, ten minutes.

Hastily, he rips his damp clothes out of the washer and stuffs them into the dryer. As he waited for the washer cycle to finish, he had wandered back up into his bedroom, noticing that his underwear drawer was completely empty. He also only had a dark green t-shirt with large streaks of mustard stains, as dirty as a rag; he needs to finish the wash and get dressed quickly or else he'll be late for class.

He pulls and tugs his clothes out of the dryer like a magician pulling ribbons out of his shirt. He plops them into the laundry basket and frantically runs towards his room.

He whips his drawers open, stashing shirts, socks and underwear quickly inside, not bothering to gently fold them. He touches the various colored briefs in his underwear drawer with his index finger, feeling the moist water from the wash still ingrained in them. He doesn't have a choice, though; he can't not wear any underwear or socks. The shirts are bigger and will dry quicker, faster. But the small items…

He quickly gets into the shower. He rubs his towel onto the steamy mirror, clearing a large block to look at himself. He's wearing a dark blue shirt with a gold band logo on the front, a tuba instrument sketched out. Underneath the shirt, he stands in his skimpy white briefs, feeling the back of the brief as it sticks tightly to his butt, still wet from the wash. He pulls on the back side of his underwear, the elastic snapping back sharply into place. He inspects the front pouch of his underwear, pulling up his band shirt slightly.

Freddie pulls up his cargo shorts up past his belly button. He tugs on the front of them, bending his back over, sticking his butt out towards the mirror. He sees a small wet spot on the back of his cargo pants, but his still-wet underwear doesn't seem to be making a huge lake of water or producing a clear, moist outline of his brief lines. He's had wedgies at school before, he doesn't need X-Ray transparent cargo pants now…

As he walks through the bright red hallway, he tugs at the back of his cargo pants, loosening his wet tighty whites from his butt. The wet spot on the back of his pants is a bit larger now after sitting for a few minutes on the drive to school.

Anxiously, he walks up to Carly and Sam as they stand together by Carly's locker, talking quietly.

"What's up with you, stiffy?," Sam asks, smiling slightly at Freddie as he walks like a square penguin.

"Laundry issue," Freddie mumbles. Carly chuckles, a sort of snort, then looks back into her locker, grabbing a textbook.

"We need that book today?," Freddie asks Carly, his eyebrows curving upwards.

"Yep," she says, not looking at him but confirming his worry.

He walks back across the hallway towards his locker, Carly and Sam staring at him, trying to gauge what's really going on with him.

Freddie unlocks his locker again and bends over to grab the purple-colored textbook. Suddenly, a smartphone sounds off, a flash filling the left side of the hallway. A bunch of students start laughing, staring at Freddie's bent over backside. The outline of his briefs is clear and transparent now, the back of his cargo shorts drenched in dark wet residue from the early morning rinse.

A red-haired girl with glossy lipstick, _Missy_ , holds her phone out towards Freddie, revealing her snapshot. It's a shot of Freddie bent over, his wet-blotched pants revealing the curvy lines of his tight underwear. She smiles widely, uttering an 'awww' sound as he stares stone-faced at the picture.

She turns the phone screen back towards her and starts typing. She writes, "Cover up your tighty-whities, little Freddie…", and sends it off on her snapchat, starting the circulation of the picture across the many phones of the school's students.

Sam stares down at her phone, looking at the picture of her friend bending over with transparent brown-blonde pants. She puts her palm to her forehead and shakes her head, exhaling. Carly laughs hysterically to the right of Sam as she also stares down at her phone.

"Stop it, Carly, it's not funny. Freddie's our friend, this is really embarrassing…", Sam says quietly, practically whispering.

"It's just too funny…Freddies got undie lines…," Carly trails off her sentence with a laugh, shuts her locker.

Freddie stares down at his feet, red in the face. He slowly looks up towards Sam, who's gazing across the hallway towards him. Carly is still giggling at her phone. Sam makes eye contact with Freddie, makes a shrugging gesture, trying to comfort him.

Freddie smiles halfheartedly back at Sam, then looks back down at his feet. A trail of water slides down his leg, dripping off of his left pant leg. He slowly turns and walks away towards his first class, the laughter drowning out with every new step. Just got to get through the day, Freddie thinks. I don't know how, but just have to.

As Freddie, Sam, and Carly sit adjacent to each other in history class, Mrs. Feinbaum suddenly opens a drawer in her desk and pulls out a small towel.

"Do you need to sit on a towel, Freddie?", she asks seriously, not seeming to be cracking a joke. Regardless, the class erupts in laughter.

"Quiet! Quiet!," she exclaims, whipping the towel against the edge of her desk.

Freddie shyly shakes his head, gesturing that he doesn't need the towel. He slumps down deeper into his chair.

"Here, come up and write the article on the board, Freddie," Mrs. Feinbaum says suddenly. Freddie perks up in his chair and hesitantly brings himself up out of his seat. He can still feel his pant leg sticking to his wet underwear.

As he walks by Carly, leaned over on her elbows on her desk surface, she sprouts her arms out and quickly pulls Freddie's cargo shorts down. They fall like a heavy ship anchor down around his ankles. His t-shirt doesn't hide his underwear at all; it's a short shirt, shrunk by repeated dry tumbles, only running down to about where a belt would be. His slightly damp, tightly clung bikini underwear is on full display to more than half of the class sitting behind him, while the front of the class has turned around in their chairs, staring at the white front pouch of his undies poking out from underneath his blue t-shirt.

Carly pinches the back of his tighty whities with two fingers and snaps the clingy fabric out and back against Freddie's exposed butt. The sound of the cloth snapping causes an even higher level of laughter. Freddie frantically covers his backside with his two upside down palms, his hands not fully covering up the curvy lines of the bikini brief. Panicking, Sam finally leans over and whispers harshly into his ear.

"Pull your shorts up, Freddie!," Sam says.

Freddie nods, removes his hands from his backside and bends over to pick up his pants. Sam leans over her desk, tugging on the left pant leg, trying to help him pull them up as quickly as possible. He appears very vulnerable as he's bent over in his briefs, the lines of the V-shaped underwear riding up higher on his hips. He pulls his cargo shorts up past his belly button before anybody can take a picture of his live semi-wedgie.

He hoists his pants up with both hands as he walks up to the front of the class. Both Freddie's and Mrs. Feinbaum's faces are stone blank. As Freddie arrives at her desk, she hands him a hall pass.

"Go ahead and use the restroom, Freddie," she says sweetly in a soft, uncharacteristically caring voice.

He grabs the pass and walks out of the room in shame and embarrassment, the laughter continuing with or without him.

Sam walks up to Freddie by herself as he stands looking half into his locker, half out towards the hallway and its occupants. She puts a hand on his shoulder. Her small, thin fingers grip onto his shoulder tightly.

"i'm sorry, Freddie. I don't care if people laugh at you, I don't care about anything people say or do to you. I just care about you," she says, her eyes innocent and pure, missing the quirky, snarky spice of her usual expressions.

Freddie suddenly leans in towards Sam. Her eyes go slightly wide, but she then slowly leans in, too. They meet, kissing each other softly on the lips. Sam turns her head sideways and grips harder onto his shoulder.

Missy stands between them as they pull their lips away from each other, opening their eyes once again.

"Got it," Missy says, staring down at her phone, laughing to herself.

Sam unclasps her fingers from Freddie's shoulder and fast-walks over to the red-head. She grabs Missy's phone and throws it down the hallway, winding her arm back like a softball pitcher. It slides to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, a series of students unknowingly stepping down onto the phone, cracking the screen repeatedly.

"Why aren't you laughing, Missy?," Sam asks, smirking devilishly. The red-head grunts in frustration after a few moments of silent shock, then heads over to the bottom of the stairs to retrieve her shattered smartphone.

"Nice throw!"

"Thanks.."

 _ **The End**_


End file.
